How Have Things Changed??

This started from a post I saw from a fellow suicide widow in a support group on the 'Net. She's going back to school and posted the following: “Alrighty folks, I'm writing an essay on the effects of suicide. In your opinion, how has suicide effected your life? Financially, emotionally, long term effects? I know how it has effected me, but I wanted to hear from other survivors.” At first, I just had a couple of words come to mind. Then more than a quick response would really allow. As I've thought more about it, more kept coming to mind, and it occurred to me that it's a good question to deal with in a post.

First off, how about the effects I see as bad/negative:

• After 11 years of marriage and almost 15 years together, I've been having to figure out life on my own. That not only includes things like goals and plans, but also a fair chunk of my own identity.
• Financially I'm in a harder space than I was before. It's always easier when you can split the bills with someone else. She was also the one who kept on top of getting them paid on time, and I'm still struggling with that.
• In terms of emotions, I know it's harder for me to be happy than it was before. I just don't seem to have the same strength or intensity of positive responses to things that I used to.
• Along with that, it's easier for less pleasant emotions to hit hard. Thankfully anger seems to be fading back down to about what it was before, at least overall. However, it's still substantially easier to get sad or anxious these days.
• Physically I don't have the energy that I used to. I've recovered a fair amount, but not back to where I was. And, added to that, I picked up an arrhythmia in my heart since her death, and it's hard to think that didn't have at least some to do with it.
• I have a harder time being as focused and productive at my job. Thankfully it's not so bad I'm in danger of losing my employment, but I also know that I'm not doing as well as I used to there, either.
• I can't say I'm sleeping much worse now, because I wasn't sleeping real great in the last couple years before she took her life. However, I was able to handle running low on sleep better than I can now.
• I know this is more on me, but I picked up smoking again. I'd been quit for several years before she'd died, and was even able to stand outside with her when she'd smoke and be OK. I know it was my choice to pick it up again, but I also know that I very likely wouldn't have without having to go through dealing with not just her death but all the extra crap that comes with suicide.
• There are still a fair number of things I wish I'd have been able to do, or do differently. Those thoughts don't come up as often, but I suspect that they'll never fully go away.

These are, however, counterbalanced by some things that are positive:

• I would likely never have learned as much about cooking, and how much I enjoy it, as I've done in the last four years. At first it was primarily driven by necessity. Now, though, I'm finding there's a great deal I enjoy about it, especially seeing if I can make/do new things.
• I also likely wouldn't have gotten back into hiking the way I did last summer. And one good thing that came from that was getting to see that I can still manage a really tough hike in a pretty short amount of time, even 20 years after the first time I did it. Not bad for a middle-aged desk jockey.
• I wouldn't have made the friends I have through some of the groups that I've been lucky enough to become part of. There are some truly amazing people I've met, several of whom have humbled me more than once by what they've said and done...though never with malice. It's always been leaving me in awe, and wanting to be like them when (if??) I grow up.
• I'd thought I was a pretty good person before. However, in dealing with all of this, I've gotten to see I have depths of character I hadn't dreamed were there. Lord knows I've still got a lot to work on and some more growing up to do, but there are also aspects of me that I'm quite pleased with and proud of. One example was seeing that I could drag myself to the memorial service for a co-worker's wife who'd passed away...five months after me darlin' wife had shuffled off this mortal coil. I hadn't wanted to go. I hadn't planned on going. And yet I showed up and was able to offer a few words of condolence and support. Plus, I didn't start crying until I'd left and gotten out to my car.
• As hard as it is to admit, I'd feel like I'd be lying to not admit that my life's now better for not having to deal with her anxiety and depression and isolation and rage.
• At this point, I think I've got an overall better sense for who she was, both good aspects and bad. However, that's counterbalanced by knowing that my memories of her have gotten a bit faded and fuzzy with the passing of time, and so I'm not sure.
• I firmly believe that us being together bought her a fair chunk of the last 15 years of her life that she might not have otherwise had. She'd told me several times in the last few years I was the main thing that kept her holding on and kept her going. Well, I can now view things as having in part been what gave her a chance to deal with her stuff, and that's a lot right there.

I'm sure there's more to it than that, but those are the first things that had come to mind. I don't want to write out a novel here, or use it as an intensive, in-depth therapy exercise. I do think it's good, though, that it wasn't too difficult to identify a decent number of aspects that're both good and bad. In slogging through the Hell of grief from suicide, it's sometimes way too easy to get lost in what's broken or tarnished or stained or just....wrong. That's part of it, but it's not all. And that's good to KNOW.

Four Years: My Progress and My Choice

February 4^th is the date I.....what is the right word? It's sure as Hell not “celebrate.” That's got too much of an implication of something that's appreciated and enjoyed and brings happiness, which this day doesn't. Perhaps the right word is “honor”....or even “remember”....when me darlin' wife died. I know it's not the actual day she died. They couldn't tell me that, but from what they described (and what I saw for myself) of the condition of her body, it wasn't that day. I have my guess of when it was, but I'll likely not know for sure, at least not in this life. Regardless, that's the day that's set aside. And this time 'round, it was four years ago.

First off, I never thought I'd get this far, either in terms of what I've dealt with or even just seeing this many pages on the calendar turn by. For a long time, my goal was to get to where I felt like I could handle a single day at a time, and that was months in the coming. Even just a single year? Forget it! The fact that it's now been four (and a spare bit o' change) is still somewhat surreal. I guess it'll sink in at some point, hopefully not too close on when I'll be coming up on year five.

I wasn't sure (yet again) what to do on the day this year. The only thought that came at first was part of what I'd done last year, namely buying a couple of flowers and leaving one in front of the hotel room where she died and another at a place that'd been special to us both, where we'd renewed our vows on our 10-year wedding anniversary, where I'd scattered a bit of her ashes. As I sat with it, that idea kept feeling more and more not-right, especially at the hotel. It wasn't so much about getting “caught” as the idea that it'd be passing on at least some confusion and awkwardness to others, if not some of the pain. And yet no other idea was coming. One of the prices to be paid for going with what feels right over having a set tradition and leaving it at that, I suppose.

The day before, when I was out having a smoke, I was mulling just that over, when an idea hit me. I've got a friend who uses the term “God-winks,” and I think that fits a fair number of things. However, this felt more like what I'd heard of as a “God-bomb” in one of Stephen King's books. Bear in mind that, as I write it out here, the whole thing blazed into my mind all at once, information that felt like it was carried on a spear of light. The idea was simply that what'd happened four years ago was tragic and painful and sad, and that a lot of why it'd come about had been due to tragedy and pain and sadness. Doing something to focus on those same feelings again would, in some ways, be remaining in and perpetuating that same dynamic. Instead, perhaps, it would be better to break that chain, to spend some of the time that day praying for healing instead. I can't claim credit for having thought of that. I'm not that smart nor that wise. I'm just grateful I at least had the capacity to listen and not reject it out of hand for not fitting with how I'd been looking at things. And the more I sat with it, the more right it felt.

On the day itself, I left work a couple hours early. After dropping off my work stuff and changing out of work clothes (and feeding the cat, 'cause I had no idea how long I'd be about this), I snagged a pocket-sized notebook and a list of places and headed out. All of the places listed were ones that seemed to have associations with things she'd been able to face down and overcome or places where she'd grown. And, at each, I spent at least a few minutes there, just reflecting on what she had done and what those places had represented for her, ending with jotting a few notes on what came to mind into that notebook. The places themselves don't really matter, at least not to anyone else, and I won't share them all here. Nor will I share all the things that came to mind, as some are very deeply personal still. Some I will share, though.

I stopped by the place where we got married. She'd been married before, and from what she'd told, it had ended badly and painfully. For her to decide to take a chance on marriage again took a great deal of courage and willingness to be vulnerable again. There's no guarantee with taking that step, and it represents both a massive risk of pain as well as an equally massive chance of fulfillment and joy. I get that now, much better than when we wed. Another was the school where she'd gone for her medical assistant training. She'd believed she was smart before, but this was a place where she got to show and see it for sure. She did incredibly well, graduating with a 3.96 GPA, which was far better than I'd ever done at my best (and I told her so repeatedly). A third was a coffee shop she'd gone to for awhile, checking out a local meet-up group. She'd been somewhat leery of reaching out to a community again, and this time around was able to find a group of her own, and some good friends. That took a lot of courage, too, as well as being willing to look at what role she'd played in some not-so-great experiences before in order to avoid repeating them.

All told, I was out and about with this for four hours. It was a real challenge to stay focused on those instances of healing and growth. The sadness and anger wanted to come up, did boil up hard a couple of times. At least I was able to set them aside for the moment while going through that. The couple places before the last were hardest, where I felt the most turmoil and resistance, but after the last it felt like a huge weight was lifted. I went home and lit a candle for her, and offered all the energy and good intention that revisiting those places—and even more importantly, those memories—had pulled together. I'd hope some would go her way if she's still needing it. I reckon some stayed with me, as that's often how those things seem to go. And the rest, whatever's left over, I offered out to the Creator to share with those as might be in need.

I'm still reeling and recovering. It was an exhausting process. The way my mental autopilot has been making a lot more mistakes lately lets me know just how demanding it was. At the same time, I can also be grateful to have gotten to a point where that's something I can do. There will always be sadness and probably occasional anger or resentment about what she did. But it's good to see that I don't have to be ruled by it. If there was any question left, this proves (at least to me) that the grief and loss can no longer run or define me, not unless I let them.

Is this the final climb down out of Hell? The scramble along the frozen passage at the bottom, where the devil stands trapped in ice? The way to the Great Egress? I don't know. But if it's not, it's put me far closer to it than I've ever been. And that gives me continued hope.

Complicated Grief Study, Part the Second

It's been awhile since my first blog post about the Complicated Grief study I've been part of, which I put together back in early November of last year. At the time, we'd gotten into doing some exposure/systematic desensitization work to help make difficult/uncomfortable tasks more approachable. It's been some time since then, and there's been more that's gone on...and come up.

One of the biggest things was something we started doing a few weeks ago. It's called the “Imaginal Conversation,” where we work with one of the group therapists. It starts out with the group therapist taking the role of the deceased loved one, and we're supposed to talk to them as if they're really there, as if this was a miraculous chance for a last conversation with them. The therapist doesn't really respond, and serves more as a placeholder and someone to focus on, which I'm guessing is in part to help make it more vivid and more real. They might ask about a couple of the things we've brought up that were important, but that'd be about it. When we're done with that, we switch. We then take on the role of the deceased while the therapist switches into our place. And the next part of the task is for us to pretend to be the deceased responding to what we'd just said. Again, the therapist isn't really saying anything, with the possible exception of a brief comment about something that might be important to us. The third and final phase of it is switching back to the original arrangement, where we're again ourselves and the therapist is in the place of the deceased. This is a last chance for us to respond to what we thought the deceased might've said in response to us.

If it feels a little confusing keeping track of the switches and responses, you're in good company.

We got them done over two weeks. The first week, two of the women in the group went through it. I was very glad that I didn't have to, for two reasons. The first and lesser reason was that I had a presentation to do the next morning. I figured going through that exercise would stir up a bunch of things for me, and likely result in sleeping/resting quite poorly. The second reason, the one that was a lot stronger, was that when they first announced what we were going to be working on, my initial response internally was panic, followed quickly by anger bordering on rage. It made it hard to focus on and pay attention to what else was happening in the group. I think I did OK at that and at least offered some support and validation and encouragement to the two who went first. But I was very, very seriously afraid that if they'd gotten me up there on that first night, I'd have erupted in front of the group....and that would NOT have been pretty.

It was my turn the week later. At least by then most of the anger had subsided. The thoughts were still around, but the intensity of the emotion had dropped a lot. I was still exceptionally anxious about it. I recall talking with one of the older women in the group beforehand, with both of us stating we weren't sure we'd be able to handle it. To make a long story short, I went first that night...and I handled it. I had a token/talisman (story for another time) that I held on to and ran my fingers over the whole time. There wasn't the anger I'd been afraid of when I did my turn. Actually, the comment that's stuck with me and still bounces around in my head since then was about how much love and tenderness they saw, both when I was speaking as myself and when I was speaking as me late darlin' wife.

That's been the hardest thing to deal with, to come to grips with. I'm still not sure why. Is it that I'd wanted it so desperately at the end, and it had become so scarce? That I'd blocked that out as a way to get through? That I've been afraid of the vulnerability that goes along with that kind of tenderness and love? That it's been easier to cover that over with anger (either vengeance or cold disdain)? That there's been some guilt for having cared and invested so much in someone who ended up doing something that hurt me so badly? I don't know. I'm still trying to sort it out.

What I can say is that the last week we met, we went through telling the story once more about what happened to them. And this time there was more of the tenderness in how I told the story. How I felt while telling it. What I remembered and what I shared. And that, with the anniversary of her death coming up, I feel the sadness more pervasively but less intensely than I have before.

The only other thing to mention at this point from the group has to do with the Memory Forms we've filled out. The first two were things we recalled about the deceased, good things about them and good times we shared. This latest one, though, is entitled “Some Difficult Times.” It asks about times that were hard and qualities of the deceased that we didn't like. And even of possible ways that life is now easier that they're not here anymore. I'm not sure why that's being done now, at the end. But I'm trusting they know what they're doing. It's worked out well so far.

Two more weeks to go.

Complicated Grief Study, Part The First

Having been asked by several people how it's going and what it's like, I figured it'd be easier to just write up a post than have to have the same conversation or send the same e-mail/message time and time again. Accordingly, this is a description of it, at least thus far. I learned about this months ago, through a NAMI sponsored support group for those who'd lost a loved one due to suicide. They were looking for people who'd lost someone at least six months ago, and were still struggling with it. I called in, went through the screening instruments, and basically got the answer, “Uh-HUH! Complicated grief, all right!” Unfortunately, they'd just started a group of folks through it, so I had to wait for about three months to get the chance to get in. However, from what I was told about it, it's designed to help folks who've been struggling with some of the same kinds of things I have been. I'd said early on that I'd be willing to try just about anything that seemed like it'd have a reasonable chance of helping, and this fit in just fine.

So I waited.

It started up five weeks ago. The first week was a mix of going over some of the basics about the group, like how long it'd run, some of the stuff we'd cover, the idea we'd have homework, confidentiality, etc. The rest of the first meeting was folks introducing themselves and telling the story about who they'd lost and what had happened. The second group was more of the same introductions, as we hadn't finished the first time and there were some folks present the second meeting who weren't there the first time. One thing I got from that is that the friends who'd worried that the groups I've been part of are just focused on reliving the loss over and over were wrong. Just talking about and listening to those losses was really hard. I'd talked about Ariel's story before, but it'd been some time since I'd spent that long on it, and moreso since spending that much time hearing what anyone else had been through. I could see the point to it, but I really hoped that there wouldn't be more of it, at least not that much at one time.

The third meeting didn't seem to offer me much more, either. We went over the grief & emotion tracking logs that they'd given us, as well as talking some about what both “regular” or healthy grief and complicated grief are. Again, I could see the point to going over that. Not as many folks had read up on complicated grief as I had by that point. Heck, I'm pretty sure some hadn't read up on grief in general as much. And I understand why they wanted to go over it for those folks, to have a better idea of what we're working with and what to expect. I was glad that they made the point that the goal wasn't to get this all gone. Instead, it was to get to where we didn't feel stuck in it anymore, and to give us some tools to use to work through some of those things. Still, I was having to hold really hard to the idea that it'd help, that there'd be more to come.

Things changed in the fourth meeting. That was the one where they introduced what they're calling an exposure treatment. It's an approach I'd heard of before, under the name “systematic desensitization.” They had us list out some grief goals, as well as how much distress just thinking about them brought up. After that, we were to pick one that was a low to moderate level of discomfort to start working on. The process would start with spending 15 minutes a day just thinking about doing that activity or goal, and no more. The idea would be that, over time, our bodies 'n' hearts would stop reacting as strongly to it. Once we got to where there wasn't much distress (three days in a row where just thinking about it would rank about a two on a scale of one to ten), then we'd go on to the next step and repeat. The idea would be to work our way closer and closer to being able to actually deal with that goal itself, without either feeling stuck or overwhelmed by it. It wouldn't mean that it wouldn't hurt or be difficult, but that it'd be manageable.

Macho idiot that I am, I first picked the hardest goal that'd come to mind, sitting down to watch the video of our wedding. I'd watched half of it one time after she died, but haven't been able to approach it since. Thankfully, I pretty quickly realized I was overdoing it, and that I should follow the directions and pick an easier one. The one I picked is being able to look through the pictures of her I had printed out and put into a photo album. And so I've been just thinking about doing that. The first day I did so, the distress ranked about a six out of ten. As of today, it's the second time that it's only ranked about a two. If that keeps up tomorrow, I get to go to the next step. I reckon what's worth trying next is just sitting holding the photo album. Not opening or looking through it, but just holding it. And see how that goes. I like the idea of eventually getting to where I can look at those pictures of her when I want or have good reason to, and not having to wait for a time when it's just suddenly OK or manageable. Her recent birthday would've been a good day for that. Same with our wedding anniversary. Hopefully, I'll be there in time for the four-year mark in February...but that's for down the line.

The only thing I'm running into as a challenge with it so far is that spending the time even just thinking about looking at her pictures that much is leaving me kind of unsettled and wound up. As it's usually toward the end of the evening I've made time for it, that's meant I'm not able to unwind enough to sleep until later than I'd like. I'm sure that extra degree of exhaustion isn't helping matters any. I'm hoping that as the distress continues to abate and the success with this mounts, it'll get easier to let it go when I'm done.

There are other things left to face. I'm curious to see what else they'll present for us and have us do. At least at this point I can see how it can help. I'm just hoping it'll also help with learning how to enjoy life again, too. If I can get those two things from this group/study, it'll all be worth it.

Another @!$!!#! Layer

It's astounding how many different elements there are to working through grief. The closer the person was in your life who died, the more there is to it. Same with other complicating factors, that just add more dimensions and aspects. At first, it seems like the layers come through rather quickly. New things hit often enough that it feels like it's an ongoing process. It gets hard to trust that things are really what they are, because new things have come up, and keep coming up. There's no way to know if or when the next will appear, but it never seems to take long. Hell, sometimes the next comes along before we're even feeling done with the previous one. And then a plate that already felt full feels overloaded. And if it was feeling overloaded, well, we wonder if this'll be the one to make it crack.

And yet, after awhile, enough's been worked through that it seems like it might be the end. The levels don't unfold as quickly anymore. We get some time to work through things. We get periods where there's not stuff coming up, that starts feeling like we've made some progress. We get to enjoy feeling a bit more settled with who we are, with who we've been becoming. We get to have a sense that we're actually handling things OK. There's a sense of confidence and comfort that comes with that. It starts feeling like life might be something we're going to be able to deal with again after all.

And then another fucking layer unfolds on us, and we find ourselves yanked into another go 'round on the rollercoaster.

I'd said before I hope to get to the point that most of what comes to mind when I think of her is the good memories, the good times we shared. Sure, it'd be unrealistic to expect the bad memories would be completely gone. I don't know of any way to erase all of those without erasing EVERYTHING. Besides, if nothing else, the memories of the bad times are good indicators of what isn't worth accepting again. What isn't worth it, no matter how many other things might be good....or might seem to be good. But those can be safely tucked away 'til they're needed, and most of what comes up is the good memories. That was the hope, anyway.

The one thing I hadn't really counted on is that having the good memories come back up could hurt so much. They're such a strong reminder of where there had been good elements and good times. And those are the things I really miss. Not having thought of them much, I hadn't missed them, not as specifically. But when they suddenly come to mind, bursting through like the rays of the sun shoving through the storm clouds that have blanketed the sky....all too often they hurt, too. The warmth of the sun is welcome after the frigid gale and rain, but when your skin's already raw and burned, it hurts, too. And I'd never considered how much work there might be that'd go into reclaiming those good memories, those good elements.

Another fucking layer to unravel. At this point, I'm afraid to wonder if this is the last. I'm afraid to assume it is...because I might be proven wrong...again.

Feathers in the Sand

I'd heard from a fair number of other widows and widowers I've gotten to know of things that come around that're signs from their deceased spouse. It's been a variety of things, from butterflies to dragonflies to electronics acting up and even finding heart-shaped things around them. It'd been something I wished I had happen for quite some time. I hadn't had that experience, of something that would show up that would let me know that she's still around, that she still thinks of me. That I matter to her still.

Until just recently.

I was at a family reunion in northern California. My Dad's side of the family got together for the first time in years. It wasn't all of us, but it was a good-sized majority, With the exception of my brother and three cousins, all of us were there. The aunt who put it all together has a house in a little town on the coast just north of San Francisco. She arranged for a couple other houses to be available for us, too. We were easy walking distance from the beach, maybe 30 yards or so from the front door of the house where I was staying to the start of the sand. And it made it plenty easy to go for walks along the water. Most of them were done with other people, either paired up or small groups. But I did one walk alone. I was needing to clear my head and work through some of my own stuff, because the last time I'd been out there had been with me darlin' wife. And that was pushing some buttons. I didn't want to take any of that out on anyone else, so I headed out on my own for a bit.

I still don't know what clicked. I'd been walking awhile and was feeling the effort, especially of keeping up a good pace in the sand. It wasn't completely dry, but it also wasn't completely wet and packed, either. I still wonder if it took me getting physically tired enough to get at least some of me out of the way enough for something to get through. But at one point I found myself looking down and noticing some of the feathers that were scattered along the beach. There were a fair number of them, fallen from the gulls and the pelicans that were always around. One, in particular, caught my eye. On an impulse, I picked it up and brushed the grains off of it. And then I stuck it back, quill-end first, into the sand so that it stood up, aligned with the wind. Looking at it, the thought hit me that it was the same color of brown as me darlin' wife's hair had been.

And it clicked. It was from her.

For the rest of the time there, I'd make a bit to go down to the beach and, if I saw other feathers that caught my attention like that, I'd stand 'em up in the sand. Each one made me a little sad. Even more, though, they reminded me of her, of what she looked like, of how she'd smile. Of how she liked to be outside. Of how there were a lot of times that she liked spending time together.

The funny post-script came the night after I got back. It'd been raining and windy when I went outside. In the driveway, I found a small feather, just about the same shade of brown. With that kind of weather, it shouldn't have been there. If the wind hadn't blown it halfway across the state, the rain should've washed it into the gutter and down a drain. But there it was. Another nod from her. I have it inside the house now, as I couldn't find any sand to stand it in.

I've kept my eyes open since. I'm sure there'll be more. She'll say “Hi” again.

The Last Magical Place

It's been awhile since I posted anything. I've been dealing with a rather nasty bout of depression that's finally starting to lift some. I'd thought it had started kicking in shortly after the 3-year anniversary of her death, back in February. Talking with some friends and family, they've said that it started earlier than that, maybe back around Thanksgiving. Regardless, it'd been making things harder and harder for quite some time. I finally had the sense to get help for it, and it seems like it's paying off. I'd wanted to write before, but this is the first time I've actually felt able to do so. Hopefully it'll be something I can get back to regularly, as I know it'd helped before.

This last weekend I went for a hike. I'd gone to the same area a week before, though not to exactly the same spots. I'd first gone there with me darlin' wife when we celebrated our 10-year anniversary. In addition to renewing our vows, we'd gone to an inn up in one of the local canyons. The dinner was fantastic, the room was nice, and breakfast kept up with dinner. That second day, we went for a hike up at the top of the canyon. We'd headed up to a place called Twin Lakes, and the trail leads to the eastern edge, where a dam holds that side of the lake in place. We then went on around the lake to the western edge, which is against the side of the mountain slope below a saddle between two peaks. It's a kind of isolated spot, and it'd felt magical when we'd been there. We hadn't planned on hiking that far, but it'd really made the day. I hadn't been back to that specific place.

Until this last Saturday, three days ago.

Even then, I hadn't planned to go back there. I'd planned to hike a loop that would take me to the eastern edge of Twin Lakes, to where the trail meets the dam and would take me back down. Due to a rather curious series of events, I ended up with more time than I'd thought I'd have, and it led to following....something. Something inside me wanted to take another trail, to see where it would go, and yet another that split off from it. The end result was coming to the saddle behind the western edge of Twin Lakes overlooking that spot. As I was hiking there, the thought had come up of stopping by that place. I'd felt anxious and uneasy about it, wondering why I'd go. Wondering what I'd find. Wondering if it'd be worse if I found...nothing. And I just didn't want to go.

And yet I ended up down there.

The trail I saw that looked like it led down from the saddle disappeared halfway down the slope. The clearest way down through the scree and undergrowth of plants would lead there. In retrospect, it was stupidly dangerous to go off-trail through that area. I'm lucky I didn't break something on the way down there. But I ended up back at that place. At the edge of the lake. Where it'd felt magical being with her.

And I found...memories. It was the first time in months, more than I can count off-hand, that I was able to remember her with warmth and affection. For months, I'd not wanted to think about her, not if I could help it. And when I did, it was often hung up on how she left or how rough things were for the last few years. How I'd stood by her and done so much to try to help, only to have her do....this. But in that place, I could remember her smile. The warmth I felt seeing it. How much she trusted me. How much she was willing to share of herself. How much she accepted me.

I don't think I stayed there all that long, maybe 20 minutes or so. And then I had to go. It was too much. It was overloading having all that come back all at once. But it hit me on the way out, that it was the last of the places that'd felt magical for us, the last one I hadn't been to yet. That there were no more places to go to, to try to find memories or some sense of her. There's nothing left to look for, to hope for.

To be afraid of.